


Raised with the Fume of Sighs

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Lewis raised the cigarette to his lips and closed his eyes as he inhaled.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raised with the Fume of Sighs

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lamardeuse and Riverlight for their help with this story!

James had waited too long to come outside for a smoke. He'd gotten to the point of thinking _if you'd gone ten minutes ago you'd be back already_ and not being able to think of anything else; after a half-hour of spiraling variations on that theme he'd finally come outside. By now he wanted the cigarette so badly that the first drag wasn't even a pleasure, just a slight reduction in the awful tension winding tighter and tighter in his chest. The second left him feeling like he could actually breathe, but he didn't stop to do that beyond the necessary exhale, so he could get to the third.

And then he jerked the cigarette away from his mouth at the sound of familiar footsteps, cursing himself for his awful timing even as he turned to look. Lewis was out of the courtroom at last and striding unerringly toward him. Of course he'd known exactly where to find James, but James hadn't meant to need finding.

Anytime in the last five years, up until the last few months, it might have escaped James's notice that the sight of Lewis walking toward him felt as good as the hit of nicotine didn't, evaporating the hideous tension at a glance. Now he knew exactly what he was feeling, and the noticing gave rise to a whole other kind of tension. 

Lewis didn't break stride until he'd drawn even with James, pressing his shoulder to James's and plucking the cigarette from his hand. 

"I wasn't—" James said, and then stopped dead, never knowing whether he'd been about to say _going to drop it_ or _finished with that_ , because Lewis raised the cigarette to his lips and closed his eyes as he inhaled. 

James stared absolutely shamelessly. He saw the tiny increment of release-of-tension that went through Lewis, saw him shudder a little on the exhale. Lewis opened his eyes and caught James staring, meeting his eyes like he'd expected it. Like he'd known James would be right there, looking. 

James looked away, trying not to think about what Lewis must have noticed by now. He took the packet from his pocket, shook out another cigarette and lit it—if Lewis was going to smoke in front of him, he wouldn't scruple about smoking in front of Lewis. James looked up as he brought the cigarette to his mouth; Lewis was raising his in sync, though with a self-conscious gesture. It wasn't muscle-memory, James didn't think. If he succeeded in quitting tomorrow and started up again twenty years after, James thought his hands would still remember the smoothest path to bring the cigarette to his mouth. Lewis didn't handle his like that.

Because he absolutely had to say something, and because he was suddenly intensely curious, James narrowed his eyes and asked on the exhale, " _Did_ you used to smoke?"

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "You ask that like you've received conflicting reports."

James thought for an unavoidable microsecond about Lewis being cross-examined just now, about what had driven him to come out here in need of a cigarette. 

He took another drag before he said, "Dr. Hobson. She told me when I started working with you regularly that I wasn't to smoke in front of you and tempt you into starting up again. But you've never really shown any interest in it apart from stopping me littering—until just now."

Lewis nodded, and took a last forceful drag that burned the cigarette right down to its filter. "Used to a bit—socially, you might say. It got to be more after Val died. I was drinking too much then, and the fags went with it. I quit entirely before I went off on the exchange."

James nodded, and Lewis stepped around him—not really moving any further away, his shoulder brushing James's chest—to toss the end of the cigarette into a bin. Stepping back to where he'd been before, he stole James's cigarette again, plucking it from James's mouth this time and putting it to his own lips.

That stole James's breath, a gut-punch of entirely inappropriate arousal at the sight of Lewis's lips touching the spot where his own lips had been a second before. Lewis's mouth would taste just like his right now, and James couldn't help thinking that that meant Lewis wouldn't mind the taste of James's mouth on his. 

James tore his gaze away just as Lewis's eyes flicked in his direction, and he pulled his cigarettes out again and lit another, keeping his gaze turned toward the pavement. He could feel Lewis watching him.

"What about you?" Lewis said, voice a little roughened by the smoke or by something else. "You ever try to quit?"

"Eight times since I was fourteen," Hathaway said. "Counting only the times I went at least twenty-four hours without smoking. I tried three times in the year I was at seminary, including Lent; my confessor's opinion was that I have an addictive personality and through the grace of God I hadn't gone in for something worse. Of course he didn't say that until after I'd tried the patch, which landed me in hospital."

Lewis didn't say a word, and James glanced over, belatedly realizing what he'd said. This was all about him having landed in hospital, after all; Lewis was stealing James's cigarettes because he'd just had to speak for more than an hour about a case that had landed James in hospital before they'd managed to solve it. 

Lewis just had his eyebrows raised as he puffed on his stolen cigarette. "How'd you manage that?"

James smiled a little and looked away again. "If you wear the patch at night you don't crave the first cigarette in the morning, but it can give you really vivid dreams. Mine were so bad I couldn't sleep afterward. For days I couldn't, or wouldn't. I wasn't thinking very clearly after the second night. Sometime on the fifth day without sleep I developed a heart arrhythmia. I'm not allowed to try the patch ever again, doctor's orders."

Lewis gave a snort of laughter, and leaned around James again to throw out the end of his cigarette. James watched him as he straightened up, closing his teeth on the filter end of his cigarette, but Lewis didn't make a quick grab for it, this time. He met James's eyes, raised a hand slowly to his mouth. His thumb brushed James's lip, and James's jaw dropped just enough to let him have what he wanted. 

"Ta," Lewis said, barely audible, and then James's cigarette was between his lips.

James could only nod, fumbling in his pocket again for the packet of cigarettes and his lighter. He stared in confusion for several seconds before he understood that he was down to his last cigarette, and before he could lift his head, or even raise the cigarette to his lips, there was a touch on the back of his head, just above his right ear. 

"They had pictures," Lewis said quietly, as his fingers found the scar. It didn't really show, normally, though there would have been an obvious track if James were still wearing his hair short. He shivered as Lewis's fingers ran up the line of it and back down. "Taken when you were first in hospital, for evidence. Blood everywhere, huge black stitches. Looked like something out of the morgue."

Hathaway tried to say _sir_ but the sound didn't come out, and that wasn't what he wanted to say, anyway. He looked up without raising his head and met Lewis's eyes, and Lewis held his gaze, running his fingers over the scar as he took another drag from the cigarette. James could hear the tiny sounds of it burning between them.

Lewis looked away to exhale, dropping his hand as he said, "Took me right back to that night, thinking you'd... thinking I'd lost you."

James still couldn't remember anything for hours before he'd been attacked, nor for the better part of a day after. Lewis had tracked down the culprit on his own while James was still out cold. He'd woken up in hospital to Lewis sitting beside him, had seen what was there to be seen on his face, in the touch of his hand to James's. He hadn't been able to stop seeing it, ever since.

But that had been all there was to it, just seeing and knowing. James had got out of hospital, Lewis had got some sleep, and for weeks it had seemed like they might just go on as they had for the last five years despite the new awareness between them. 

But testifying today had taken Lewis back there, knocking things loose all over again, and this time James wasn't half-conscious in a hospital bed. This time James was standing on the pavement attempting to smoke a cigarette, and Lewis kept taking them away from him.

James looked down again, and finally made sense of the single cigarette he had left, the lighter in his other hand. He raised the packet to his mouth, getting the cigarette between his lips, and tossed the empty packet into the bin. He lit it and inhaled, noting as he did that no amount of smoking would soothe the racing of his heart, not while Lewis stood too close, watching him through the curls of smoke that rose between them.

"Last one," James said. "But I've got more at my place, if you're inclined to keep this up."

"And if I'm not?" Lewis said softly, taking the cigarette away from his mouth to tap ash but never lowering his eyes from James's.

"Then you should come home with me anyway," James said quietly, feeling the rush of the words like a drug, making him almost giddy. And yet it was easy to speak as to breathe, because he knew where they both stood. Much too close for a public place. 

"Well, I'm certainly not letting you out of my sight," Lewis agreed, turning so that James could fall into step with him, their arms brushing as they walked. 

They were two streets on from the courthouse when Lewis said, "Did Laura threaten any dire consequences if I took up smoking due to your bad influence?"

"Not really," James said, smiling. "But she did inform me that, as she is an inventive woman with access to a bone saw, if I broke your heart no one would ever find my body."

Lewis nearly choked on incredulous laughter, his stride faltering as he looked over to James to see if it was really true. James smiled and offered him his half-smoked cigarette. Lewis took it, their hands brushing more than necessary, and offered James the fag-end he'd been holding on to. 

James rolled his eyes but accepted it, tossing it into a bin as he added, "I spent a few years worrying about whether she meant that romantically or otherwise."

"And then you figured it out?" Lewis asked, their last cigarette dangling rather precariously from his lips.

James shook his head, letting his eyes linger on Lewis's mouth. "Then I realized it didn't matter, because I had no intention of breaking your heart in any sense."

Lewis looked away at that, and James shoved his empty hands into his pockets and watched his feet; they were in James's street when Lewis's hand landed on James's shoulder. James looked up and realized he'd entirely missed seeing Lewis finish that last cigarette, and that everything he'd seen when he woke up in the hospital was still there, still real, even in daylight on a public street. 

"I've no intention of breaking yours either," Lewis said softly, smiling, and James stopped walking as he smiled back, too overwhelmed to coordinate his limbs. 

Lewis rolled his eyes and tugged on James's shoulder, and once he was in motion again it was all James could do not to break into a run; he pulled out his keys, fumbling with them until they were at his door and he could let them in. There was a moment of surreal normality, unlocking doors and stepping inside to lock them again; it was on the tip of his tongue to offer Lewis a drink, and then James turned to look at him and words fled. 

Lewis came closer, once again reaching out a hand toward him, though there was nothing left for him to take from James. His hand settled on James's cheek, and his thumb touched the corner of James's mouth, drawing him gently down until their lips met. 

There was no hesitation in the kiss, no question of what this was. Their mouths opened to each other, and James could taste his cigarettes on Lewis's tongue, could still feel the heat of smoke between them. Lewis's hand was in his hair, and James's hands were both under Lewis's jacket, clutching his shirt, keeping him close. Lewis's other hand settled at the small of James's back, drawing James closer yet, and James responded instinctively, pressing his hips in against Lewis's.

Lewis pushed back. James could feel him getting hard, and broke the kiss to gasp for breath, dizzied all over again at the evidence that Lewis wanted this as badly as he did. He was hard himself, grinding his erection against Lewis's hip through the layers of their clothes.

Lewis pressed kisses along James's jaw and down onto his throat as James struggled to breathe. James made himself unclench his hands, moving them toward the buttons of Lewis's shirt, and Lewis drew back slightly, taking his hand from James's hair to catch one of James's wrists. 

"Hold on, lad," Lewis said, with a rasp in his voice that made James shudder like a touch. "Not standing up in the front room, all right? You're too old for that, never mind me."

James blinked a couple of times and then nodded. "Bed. Yes." 

He couldn't properly make himself let go, but Lewis was persistent, shoving him along in the right direction. They got tangled in the doorway and lost another few minutes—to say nothing of James's jacket and Lewis's tie—before Lewis got them moving again, shoving James inside and down onto the bed. 

Lewis stood over him, just looking, until James reached up to remove his own tie, and then in a sudden flurry Lewis was on him, straddling his hips, and James froze, biting hard on his lip to keep from utterly embarrassing himself. Lewis's hands caught his, his gaze intent on James's chest. 

He glanced up as he said, "Let me look after you, James."

James could only nod, biting back a _sir_ which would be almost entirely out of place now. He said, "Please," instead, and meant roughly the same thing.

Lewis, still holding his hands, bent forward and kissed him briefly, then straightened up; his weight landed for a moment on James's wrists, and James pushed up slightly to help. He tugged James's tie free, then unbuttoned his shirt. He ran his palms over James's chest, and even through his vest the touch had James pushing up for more, his cock aching for the same attention. Lewis just made an impatient noise and tugged up on James's vest, shoving his hands beneath it to find skin.

"Please," James exhaled again as his hands found Lewis's thighs, anchoring himself against that warm, exploratory touch, fingers brushing over his nipples, stroking restlessly over his skin. His heart was pounding, lungs straining, as if they would burst out into Lewis's grip. James's hips twitched up helplessly, seeking some touch against his erection and only glancing against Lewis's thigh. He could see that Lewis was hard, too—Lewis was still fully clothed, jacket and all, only his top button undone, while he had James writhing beneath him on the bed. 

"Sir," James gasped, and Lewis raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly. The pressure of his hands vanished, only the faintest ticklish touch lingering against James's side. 

"Robbie," James hazarded.

"James," Lewis agreed, and shifted backward, his hands sliding firmly down over James's belly. His left hand covered James's erection, and James had to close his eyes as he pushed up into that glorious pressure. He hardly realized what Lewis's right hand was doing until he felt cool air, and then he had to look, just in time to see Lewis's hand closing on his cock.

James let out a tiny, involuntary sound, and looked up to see Lewis watching his face, half-smiling. 

"Let me know if I get this wrong," he said, and then his hand started to move, and James had to look at those familiar fingers, stroking, squeezing, robbing him of speech and sense. Lewis's hand moved slowly and then faster, gaining confidence, falling into a rhythm. James was trying desperately to be still, to lie back and accept the attention, and then it occurred to him—an epiphany, a lightning-strike—that Lewis was doing to James what he did to himself, that not only was he getting James off, he was showing James how to get him off— showing him how he got off. Perhaps he'd gotten off like this thinking of James as James had thinking of him.

"Oh," James gasped, "Oh, _fuck_ ," and that was it. That impossible intimacy beyond mere nakedness, beyond mere touch, had James tipping over into orgasm with the suddenness of a blow to the head, all but sobbing at the intensity of it. Lewis stroked him through it, one hand on his cock, one on his hip, holding him steady. He shifted both of his hands back to James's chest just before it became too much in a bad way, leaning down to kiss him again, and with or without the weight of Lewis pressing him into the mattress, James could barely breathe. 

"Good, was it?" Lewis muttered against his mouth, and James managed to coordinate his hands to slide up Lewis's thighs to find his hips. 

"Best," James murmured. "But now it's my turn."

Lewis raised his eyebrows, looking down between their bodies. "Thought you just had your turn."

"Oh, no," James said, shifting his hands to Lewis's shoulders to push him sideways. "This is my turn."

Lewis went where James wanted him, sitting back against James's pillows. James knelt up and then paused to get rid of his shirt and vest, and when he looked back to Lewis he'd taken his jacket off, and was unbuttoning the wrists of his shirt. 

Lewis glanced up and smiled at whatever he saw on James's face. "Shall I take it off?"

James licked his lips, considering his answer, but if Lewis—if Robbie—were going to be put off by James's oddities they'd never have got this far.

"Could you roll your sleeves up?"

Lewis smiled and complied. "Whatever lights your rockets, lad."

James nearly managed to take the last word from him, kneeling between his legs, getting a hand on Lewis's erection and stealing another kiss as Lewis gasped. It was James's turn now to trail kisses down Lewis's jaw, down his throat and into the opening of his loosened collar. 

He kept on going, shifting lower, kissing the bared skin of Lewis's forearms, his wrists. Lewis touched his cheek, and James turned his head, sucking Lewis's thumb into his mouth. The digit bore the familiar nicotine taste, but that wasn't what made James's tongue stroke over every joint and linger on the pad. He looked up and found Lewis watching him with a slightly dazed expression of pleasure. 

James smiled, rocking his palm over Lewis's erection and then shifting his hand to get his trousers undone. Lewis's eyes fluttered shut, and James smiled wider, scraping his teeth over the tip of Lewis's thumb as he let go, shifting himself properly between Lewis's legs and getting both hands where they'd do the most good, shifting Lewis's clothes aside.

James let himself look for a moment at the picture they made: Lewis's ruddy erection in James's pale hand, framed by Lewis's crumpled shirt tails, his pants and trousers barely pushed down, just the slightest glimpse of bare thighs visible, his balls nearly hidden in the shadow between. 

James stroked him a few times, slowly, listened to the way his breathing changed, the way he didn't demand what James had been implying. 

When he touched James's cheek again James looked up and grinned.

"This is what happens when you keep thwarting my oral fixation," James announced, and before Lewis's expression had settled on any of startled or anticipatory or amused, James looked down and folded forward, taking Lewis's cock into his mouth.

It wasn't quite muscle memory; he'd managed to give this up more often than he had quit smoking. He got the hang of it quickly enough—and Lewis, gasping, brushing helpless, aimless touches over his shoulders, seemed to have no complaints. 

James closed his eyes, letting himself savor that act: the bitter-sharp taste cutting through the usual dullness of his tongue, the weight and heat of Lewis's cock in his mouth, the shape and texture that were his and his alone. As much as the giving and receiving of pleasure James was always greedy for this, this secret knowing of another. Of Lewis. And now he knew just how he had to stretch his mouth for this, just how Lewis reacted to a press of tongue here or there, how his hands would shift restlessly, trying not to be greedy, trying not to force what James would not give.

As if there were any limit to what James would give. He opened his eyes and looked up to find Lewis with his head tipped back. James eased off until he had only the head of Lewis's cock in his mouth. He sucked hard, pressing his tongue to the slit, demanding attention, and sure enough Lewis looked down and met his gaze. 

James smiled with his eyes and sank lower again, and Lewis's hand settled on his shoulder, then the nape of his neck. James raised his own hand and tangled his fingers with Lewis's, then closed his eyes again and returned all his attention to his mouth and Lewis's cock. 

It didn't take long—James didn't have time to properly experiment—before Lewis's rough breathing turned to an anxious chant of, "James, James, James." Lewis's hand tugged at the back of his neck, trying to shift him, and when James declined to be shifted Lewis's hand slid upward, into his hair, still tugging rather gently. James pressed down with the hand he'd laid on Lewis's taking Lewis's cock deeper into his mouth, staying exactly where he wanted to be.

Lewis's grip tightened, and for just a second he was holding James down as James sucked him. Then he gave a gasp of, "Oh _Christ_ ," and he was coming over James's tongue, thrusting irresistibly into his mouth, entirely undone. 

When James finally had to pull away, Lewis's hands returned to his shoulders, tugging him up into an embrace. James settled agreeably half-atop Lewis's body, his cheek against Lewis's shirtfront, listening to the thunder of his heart. 

James touched his fingers to his mouth, wondering as he had many times before—as he never had before, with shameless hope—whether what he had just done was as visible as it was tangible. His lips felt almost raw, sensitive, sore at the corners. His mouth was flooded with the taste of sex. He felt both used and accomplished, entirely disinclined to ever be anywhere but here, ever do anything but this, forever and ever. Amen.

He also desperately needed a cigarette. Not quite desperately enough to want to move, to kill the taste of Lewis in his mouth, but with the constant and inevitable longing. He'd ignore it a while yet; this was a variety of desire that he could put off fulfilling. 

Lewis's fingers rubbed idly through James's hair, and then Lewis shifted beneath him, reaching sideways.

James closed his eyes and laughed at the familiar crinkle of cellophane, the click of the lighter. He looked up in time to see Lewis with the cigarette in his mouth, drawing on it to catch the flame.

"Is that what you might call smoking socially, sir?" James asked, not quite swallowing a laugh.

Lewis huffed smoke and pretended irritation, but his eyes were bright with fondness as he took the cigarette from his lips. James opened his mouth and Lewis set it there for him, and James took a blissful drag, turning his head to keep from dropping ash onto Lewis's shirt. 

Lewis's hand was in his hair again, a rougher caress, and he said, "Don't fall asleep, now, you'll set us both on fire."

James smiled and exhaled, watching the smoke rise over them. "Too late. You already did."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Raised with the Fume of Sighs by Dira Sudis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/856868) by [fire_juggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_juggler/pseuds/fire_juggler)




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